


Yes, Captain

by thefanficawakens



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, NSFW, armour sex, bewbs, tall vs small, there's a kink in here somewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefanficawakens/pseuds/thefanficawakens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your performance at work has been less than stellar, and it is up to Captain Phasma to reprimand you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Captain

**Author's Note:**

> My very first smut fic - there are some obvious flaws that I'm aware of but for the sake of being true to the tumblr post I decided to put it up here unedited. Enjoy!

Your relationship with Captain Phasma occupied two very distinct and disjunctive spheres of influence. The first, common to most, was your association as superior and subordinate. She was a brilliant soldier and in-battle strategist, strong, skilled with every weapon available to the First Order’s expansive reach and (at least to you) effortlessly seductive. Like a forbidden fruit of shining chrome, she was an untouchable force.

When you were alone, however, away from prying eyes and whispered speculation, the force behind her became tangible. Still like a goddess, yes, but arms somehow occupied with yours and face pulled from the helmet to peruse the cushions of your lips. To have someone so beautiful and unattainable within your grasp is dizzying to say the least.

Today she appeared to be firmly placing you in the former category. The mission you were overseeing was a difficult one, full of crevasses, quicksand and ragged surface conditions which were easy perches for enemy forces. The Stormtrooper squadrons had been forced to split into tiny splinter groups to hunt out the pockets of resistance fighters, meaning Phasma’s voice sounded across your headset much more than usual to relay commands or request information from your flickering information hub. Your display, safe in the fortified confines of Starkiller base, gave you live feeds of the military altercation, but you still couldn’t help getting your train of thoughts tangled like the tiny threads of life that tumbled over your field of view.

You knew logically that the tall woman who gave you such a lingering, reverent kiss this morning could handle herself. Her blaster was unerring in its trajectory, and you had watched it destroy even the most flitting of targets in the training room, not to mention the raw strength she possessed seemed to flow from her very being. Still, the ghost of the kiss still danced over your lips, calling to reunite with her own in a twisting fling of hot breaths and mussed hair; your heart surged at the thought of her softened eyes and passionate embrace perishing in some fiery forsaken battlefield. It seemed so cruel to watch her as a tiny dot of pixels on your screen, almost gut-wrenching to have a life worth so much to you diluted and simplified and made to seem so _disposable_.

It was difficult, but the First Order left no room for messy execution. You were flagging, ragged around the edges with orders and protocol, and though the crackling voices over the intercom betrayed nothing but the normal battle-induced adrenaline you could feel the rising from the troopers at your poor performance. Sweat and nerves did nothing to ease your agitation, slipping up with terrain descriptions and repeating instructions that you had managed to confuse. Anxiety only mounted after you realised how much trouble you’d be in when the squadron returned – unprofessionalism aside, you were risking trooper’s lives by the hand of your own incompetence. You floundered on.

The mission ended in victory, as expected, and yet you felt a rolling relief. Had you failed, your head was assuredly destined for a silver platter. The screen before you flickered and died, final dismissal coming through your headset before your workstation fell silent; your heartbeat took a few minutes to quieten its frantic rhythm against you cheats, but adrenaline was soon replaced by welling unease. You had underperformed and you knew it, faced with at best an arbitrary clean up detail and at worst some long ridicule in front of your peers, not to mention a loss of favour from higher-ups which usually spelt tiny and simple mission control for the rest of your career. It was all you could do not to slam your head on your desk in utter contempt of yourself. Was it impossible to hold your relationship so solidly out of your work with as much ease as she seemed to keep it?

It would take about thirty minutes for the squadron to return from their mission, but Phasma’s audit arrived in your inbox within about five, further hammering home that you were in hotter water than you would like – messages sent at lightspeed were always of an urgent nature. It took significant amounts of self-control not to avoid further disgrace by retreating to the medbay under the guise of some ailment or other, but the side of you with pride intact only wallowed in trepidation.

Stars, to have your lover have to scold you like a child would be absolutely excruciating – and yet all you could do was wait.

* * *

When the door slid open to the Captain’s rather generously sized quarters, she was not in her usual position at her bed. Phasma had her back to you, staring over her screen that hung behind her desk – her helmet was off, but save for the blaster mounted onto the wall she hadn’t removed any other part of her uniform. This was perplexing. Was she going to chastise you for your poor performance today? Or was this, like so many others meetings you and her had had, a purely… _social_ call?

You entered with restraint, boots padding over the thin carpet and mind reeling, stopping a few cautious feet from where she sat. She turned and observed with an air of ease, movements still professional and efficient and yet saturated with a languid flourish. Perhaps it was the way her hands laced together to rest on her desk. Perhaps it was the ways her eyes leapt to meet yours with a confidently relaxed stare. Or perhaps it was the way she _licked her lips_ at the sight of you, tongue exposed in a flash of pink to wet her lips then retreat.

“Officer (Y/N). I am sure you are aware that your performance today was less than acceptable.” It was odd to hear such a formal incitement without the steely wobble of her voice synthesiser.

You made to explain yourself, stumbling over the phrases you struggled to form, but the syllables twisted into a dying gasp when she hushed you with a little _shhh_.  

Normally the disconnect between your boss and your lover was a clear line, drawn in silent cues in public and quiet touches in private. But here she was, making to reprimand your work with those uncovered eyes smouldering along the line of your law, blurring the boundaries that she so clearly had set.

“Strip.”

The request caught you like an off-guard blow, knocking the breath out of your lungs in a quick huff and widening your eyes to almost tremble in their sockets. Her expression didn’t change to accommodate your shock; eyes still trained on your own, she spoke again.

“I gave you an order.” This time, it held a mote a playfulness under the command, but nonetheless urging you into action.

Slowly, your uniform hit the ground, first the overcoat then your undershirt removed with trembling hands, then your trousers following suit. Your eyes diverted to the floor as you hesitantly move to remove your underwear, body in a seamless conflict with itself; cheeks flushed with deep embarrassment and palms cold with a quiet fear, but core languishing in the delicious heat between your legs and flick of cold that danced over your breasts, now exposed to the temperate air. Almost ashamed at your wanton longing, you moved to push your thighs together to hide your arousal and chanced a look over to Phasma, still sat at her desk, unmoving as you squirmed under her gaze. She was smirking now, eyes half-lidded as she drank in every part of your diminished and submissive body, causing a spike of delicious heat to surge through your veins and manifest between your legs. You stifled a small whimper of want, realising in this moment that you and her were playing a game, that she was toying with you – and she was winning.

Her voice sounded again, breaking a silence which had previously only been saturated with your hot, laboured little breaths.

“Come.”

Another demand. Your steps were a little hesitant, closing the distance between you and her shakily and gingerly – evidently too ginger for her liking, as a chrome arm shot out to your waist to pull you onto her lap. Legs placed either side of her middle, the sudden presence of cold armour beneath you elicited a small mewl of shock, but armoured fingers kept you from shifting in your position by keeping their grip on your midriff. Goosebumps rose in waves around her cool touch. She seemed to tower over you, neck upturned to observe her jaw and try to meet her smouldering gaze. This passionate clash between the Captain who had complete control over your every subservient move and the woman who touched you, held you, aroused you in every sense of the word was insufferably attractive, and you gave a submissive sigh into her control.

Her lips covered yours quickly and eagerly, betraying the ardent desperation that she had concealed behind her calm commands. Fingers wandered up to give your breasts a sharp squeeze and Phasma used your shocked inhale to thrust her tongue to grapple with your own, stealing yet more of your laboured breathing with her dominant movements. She grinned into your mouth at your breathlessness, supressing a chuckle at the desperate way you laced your fingers through her hair, hands still over your chest but now moving teasingly slow to prolong the pleasurable suffering. You had given yourself over so easily and so completely, reduced to a mewling mess at the slightest touch, so eager for your Captain’s command.

You gave a small whine as her mouth left your own, able to catch your breath at last but desperate to reconnect the little string of saliva that hung between your swollen lips. Heat between your legs growing stronger and more agonizing, you clawed ineffectually at the armour that gave a cold barrier between your skin and hers; with a flash one of her hands encircled your wrists and lifted firmly, holding your arms above her head as you gave a feebly struggle.

“Did I give you permission to try to remove my armour?” you were so wonderfully helpless like this, body arching with want so that your breasts jutted out to her view and face flushed and beaded with sweat, eyes glazed over with a glorious mix of fear and longing.

“N-no.” the other free hand suddenly strikes out like a viper, taking one nipple in its sharp grasp and rolling it between forefinger and thumb. Another jolt of arousal hits you like a dagger.

“ _No what?_ ” there was a dangerous tone to her voice, in stark contrast to the smirking expression that hovered inches from your face. You were her subordinate, hers to command, and you had to _obey_.

“No, Captain.” Evidently satisfied with this proper state of address, the hand returned once again to cupping your chest, rubbing over the soft skin with a rough fervour; she clearly wasn’t quite done with you like this yet, as her hand remained sturdily aloft to hold your arms above you. You could feel a slick wetness begin to leak onto her lap and look down to find yourself almost embarrassingly ready for her, core beginning to slide with ease over the metal. It had heated now, not so cold on bare flesh but warm with the flush radiating from your body.

All at once she was attacking your neck with her teeth, nipping at the skin to leave a trail of blooming hickeys that began to reach downwards over the peak of your breast. Her free hand was brought first to catch your jaw, then three fingers covered your mouth to push hard against your lips. You opened quickly to accept the chrome.

Like an obedient pet, you sucked eagerly on her armoured digits, tasting the metal in waves over your tongue. You mumbled a soft moan through your mouthful, little vibrations of pleasure travelling over your frame. The hand not occupied with filling your mouth was busy mashing into the soft flesh of your butt; the kneading motions brought her fingers tantalisingly close to your sex before being painstakingly drawn away.

A trail of spit followed her digits out of your mouth with a resonating _pop._ She sat back to examine your work, slick fingers glinting under the harsh ceiling lights, then leant forward again to bring them to your belly. Slow and cool, they wandered down to come to rest over your clit – in absolute desperation, you let out a little breathy plea.

“Pl-please, Captain.” It sounded pathetic, even to you, and Phasma’s eyes glinted with triumph.

“Report.” Her mouth was brought close to your ear, words washing over you encased in her hot breaths, and her fingers began to pinch and roll your clit to further shatter your concentration. “What do you request, Officer?” It was becoming increasingly hard to speak coherently with her fingers working you into a frenzy, spikes of arousal now making you physically convulse as she continued her ministrations.

“I-I-ahhh! I w-want you to-to put them inside-” your cheeks impossibly became redder than before at your sordid request. “Your f-fingers, please, Captain…” The last word came out as little more than a lustful sigh as she rolled her thumb and forefinger again. She only gave a satisfied little humming noise in response, but you almost groaned in relief as her fingers finally dipped down lower to your slick folds.

First one finger slipped in, then a second, bands of protective metal already stretching you out further than your arousal had. They wriggled a little to find a wall, then pushed and curled to massage against you, your head thrown back in response to the pleasure. As they explored further to try to reach your sweet spot, you inadvertently squeezed together your captured hands into tight fists at the sensation.

It was hard to sit like this, hard to open your mouth without freeing strangled cries of pleasure, hard to stop your toes curling as she travelled deeper. You could feel her eyes tracked on your burning cheeks and looked up to meet them; she was evidently enjoying how you bit your lips to hold in the shouts that threatened to overtake you. The walls were thin, and your voice was in this moment for her and only her. Drawing out her fingers right to the edge of your flesh, your eyes flicked down to see her add a third digit just before they were plunged deeper yet to brush your very core. The realisation of her intent came a second too late, and as she began to pull her fingers in an out you couldn’t help but release your lower lip and let out a particularly loud moan. You became unsure of where to focus, pupils flicking over the room as your mind clouded with ecstasy at the pace she set. It was too slow, hand moving so insufferably languidly in and out, but it meant you could feel every rut and every edge rub against your heaving walls. The knot that had wound its way around your lower belly tightened its hold to squeeze and torment in its pleasurable grip – your breaths deteriorated further into small, snatched gasps as she pleasured you, purged of any thought but desire. You began to clench in anticipation, feeling your climax nearing, air humid and body glistening with sweat, yes, you were so ready-

All of a sudden the hand retreated, leaving you feeling empty and increasingly desperate. You ground yourself against her with a supressed whine, trying to find the release you were so desperately looking for. Her hands instantly released your sore wrists which allowed you to bring your arms down, but relinquished their vice-like grip around your middle to stop your bucking hips, silencing your little noises of despair by pinching one of your spread cheeks. Your hands moved again to scrabble at her back in little frantic claws. So _this_ was your punishment – to be held in this state of almost painful provocation at Phasma’s pleasure for hours on end.

The tight coil in your belly was beginning to ache unbearably, but you refrained from further protest when she lifted you up to sit on the desk, making to stand up. To your delight, she began pulling off the armour that had kept you from her for so long. First the gloves, then the arms and chest plate, then the sullied crotch and leg armour was unceremoniously thrown to the floor. Now only in insubstantial black underclothes, your eyes greedily raked over her curves. Her thighs were so defined, form curling at her waist and widening out to those gorgeous hips, breasts straining against the material of her top – stars, were you drooling?

You dared not move from where she had placed you for fear of further teasing, instead opting to lay back propped up on your elbows, legs dangling a little distance apart to try to tempt her forwards. The sight of your heaving chest, flushed face and dripping heat seemed to break her composure, pacing over rather quickly to lean over your body. A single arm was placed by the side of your elbow as her shadow covered your body, so tiny in comparison and meek underneath her height. She leant in to kiss you again, swooping down from her vantage point to meet your lips, and you accepted with a sigh. It was surprisingly gentle, an eclipse of your lips by her own; she was struck reverent by your petite figure and couldn’t help cupping one hand around your face.

All at once she had you in her grasp again, and you were tumbling forward to meet her with a shocked huff. Phasma stood and steadied you, noticing the little tremor in your legs that accompanied the rolling waves of arousal, and seemed to stop for a second to allow you to right yourself. It dawned that you had perfect access to her body now; in a covetous haste you pulled the remaining barriers of clothing off, small digits catching on the material as you scrabbled to touch her skin. At last – _at last,_ she was there before you as naked as you were.

Phasma’s cropped blonde hair was sticking to her forehead as she stood, tall and toned and the very vision of beauty. Legs so long and curved by her strenuous training regime, six pack jutting out at her navel, blue eyes piercing as she observed your vision wandering over her body. Her rounded breasts were brought gently up and down by her deep breathing, and you were seized by a desire to touch over her body, arms moving to reach out to her. As your palms wandered over her toned stomach, round and up her back and over to fondle her chest, her own hands were cupping back over to your butt to squeeze in appreciation of your impious attention.

Phasma seated herself again on the edge of the leather chair, and her hands applied a harsh pressure to your shoulders. You buckled; limbs already weakened by the tremble of anxious desire, it didn’t take much to push you down to your knees. The muscles of her legs came forward to clamp over your sides, effectively caging you at her feet. You had no control and she knew it – she was smirking again, features lustful and triumphant to have you so submissive to her every whim. Caught between her thighs, it was clear what she was telling you to do. Meek and willing, you brought yourself forwards first to plant a kiss on her abdomen, then down to sink your tongue into your Captain.

You took her eagerly, pink muscle searching over the pink flaps of flesh to find the source of her smooth wetness, risking a nip here and there to hear her breath hitch above you. It was your turn to tease, planting little kisses around her clit before licking ever so gently down to bury yourself between her thighs and let your breath wash over the skin beneath you. Phasma gave a chuckle and moved to grip your hair at the roots, pulling your head up to look at her, her eyes holding an underlying threat – this was your punishment, not hers. Both her palms moved to shove you down again, nose practically rubbing along her slit, and the severity of her hold around your head served to warn you against further mischievousness. Unable to resist any longer, your mouth once again moved closer to her as the impatient pressure on your head increased. Your tongue moved completely in this time, sinking in deep before swirling against her with the tip, wandering around her folds with fervent speed.  You were rewarded with her first vocal loss of composure; a growl resonated in the air, hands clenching and releasing at your scalp. Suckling readily, you took a hold of a thigh in each hand, feeling her tip forward in her eagerness to feel your slick muscle explore.

Minutes melted together in the steamy humidity, every gasp you managed to elicit from above you sending further shuddering spikes of lust to your sex. The cold temperature had long since retreated in the face of an almost unbearable hotness, too consumed by each other to notice how heated you were becoming, ignoring the seconds that ticked by in favour of each other. The hands that had been so rough with you before became suddenly gentle; she ran them over your scalp, petting as a reward for your obedience, encouraging you to continue.

Soon her petting became more frantic, movements harsher and more demanding as she reached her climax; she came with relish, growling at the tremors that shook the both of you as you lapped up her juices. After you retreated, her shuddering inhalations filled the silence, the two of you simply sitting for a minute to catch your breath. Phasma had her head tipped back, face still adorned with a smirk and a sheen of sweat, eyes closed and strands of hair laying awry. The pressure of her thighs at your sides was removed, only to be instantaneously replaced with her rough grip on your shoulders once more.

You were thrown onto the desk again, back sticking gently to the surface with perspiration, and legs shoved out of the way by her control. Sitting back on your elbows, you watched impatiently as she knelt to kiss from your ankle to your knee, risking another vocalisation in your desperate haste.

“Faster, please!” at your voice, she stepped back a fraction to reward your burning gaze with her own governing eyes. At once, you felt a stab of regret, anticipating her ire at your omission of ‘Captain’ from your address. Instead, she surged forward to gently sink her teeth into your soft flesh, prompting a gasp of surprise to leave you.

“As you wish.”

She bit her way up your legs, ensuring she had left little bruises before continuing upwards to mark you as her own. Through the hazy fog of desperation at her slow paced suckling, your brain wondered incoherently how you were to explain these love bites that would no doubt litter your inner thighs the next time you did a swimming exercise – although at this moment in time you didn’t care. At the feel of her breath washing over your sensitive area, your hands shot almost independent of your thoughts to weave themselves in her hair, so nervous yet so impatient.

In desperation, you emitted a small whimper that seemed to spur her into action. The intrusion of her tongue was sudden – your hips bucked forwards of their own accord in your desire – yet not unwelcome in the slightest. You revelled at the invasive force, quickly realising how elongated it was by the perception of her muscle reaching deeply into you.

You began to wonder how Phasma had had so much self-control while you had done your work. It seemed like her tongue was everywhere; pliant and moist and unavoidably reaching into every crevasse and every inch of your excited heat. So long that it could easily brush your G-spot and claim every part of you as her own. It was becoming harder and harder to keep your moans quiet, noises of delight flowing from your lungs getting louder as the knot in your belly tightened at the delicious sensation. It built and built to an unbearable level, baying at the edges of your stomach, rising with force until you felt yourself teetering on the edge-

You clenched and came with ferocity, vision going white and convulsing at the sensation. It was as if you had lost control over your entire body, mind reeling with only thoughts of her tongue, still lapping to ride out your orgasm. Mouth agape with pure ecstasy, a scream once more bubbled from your lips; although you were past the point of caring if someone heard, you had lost the ability to control yourself as your back arched to meet her face. You rode it out with shivering stupor, arms collapsing as your body finally gave in to fatigue and head coming to rest on the surface of the desk. Phasma stood, satisfied with her absolute monopoly over you and your form, and leant to whisper a final incitement in your ear.

“Your performance must be markedly improved by the end of the week, or you will…” a hand was trailed up your neck to meet your cheek, “face further punishment.”

Your voice was weak, submissive in your exhaustion. “Yes, Captain.”


End file.
